


And Become My Blade

by DameOfNoDelicacy



Category: Bleach
Genre: Angst, Hurt, M/M, Pre-Canon, THIS IS NOT A HAPPY PIECE MY DUDES, Think Piece, but like, no comfort, warning you now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-17
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-02-16 04:08:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13046178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DameOfNoDelicacy/pseuds/DameOfNoDelicacy
Summary: "D'you figure," Shunsui slurs aloud to anyone who might be listening, "that treating your own life like it's worthless is any different from dying? Or is it the same?"A pre-canon, angsty af think piece, in which Jūshirō's greatest secret is perhaps his greatest strength, in which Head Captain Yamamoto is a ruthless commander who moves his soldiers like pawns and wields them like weapons, and in which Shunsui learns, not for the last time, how to harden his heart.[Contains spoilers for manga Ch. 616. Also contains a veritable heck-ton of headcanon.]





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A HUGE thank you, first off, to [freudhood](http://freudhood.tumblr.com), without whom this fic wouldn't exist. 
> 
> A massive shout-out, also, to [hitenbankai](http://hitenbankai.tumblr.com), my amazing beta. I seriously can't thank you enough for keeping me on track, and for putting up with my ample shenanigans throughout this process.
> 
> This fic... kinda means a lot to me. It was hard to write. It feels very, very special. I'm really excited to share it, angst and all. 
> 
> So, uh. Yeah. There's that.
> 
> Enjoy :)

_ “Shunsui?” _

_ “Yeah, Jū-chan?” _

_ “Do you believe in gods?” _

_ The question is unexpected. It makes Shunsui laugh. “Gods?” he says, looking affectionately at his strange friend and quirking a tiny smile. _

_ But Jūshirō is serious. “Yes,” he says. “Gods.” _

_ "Eh." Shunsui shrugs. “I've never given it much thought, but - not really, I guess. If they’re out there - or, y’know - up there - or, wherever they are - they’ve never done me any good.” He glances down to Jūshirō's face again, and sees how serious his friend still looks. "Why do you ask?" _

_ Jūshirō reaches forward, and catches Shunsui's hand in his own. He meets Shunsui's eyes, and his green gaze is sharp and clear and honest.  _

_ "Because," Jūshirō says softly, "there's something I should tell you." _


	2. Chapter 2

It's hardly the first time he's seen his friend faint.

In fact, if Kyōraku Shunsui were to try and count the number of times he's seen his friend faint, he'd be at an absolute loss. It's no great secret that the peculiar, white-haired lieutenant of the Tenth Division - the same one who is regularly seized by inopportune coughing fits, and who spends an inordinate amount of time recovering in his private apartments - is prone to fainting.

"It's such a shame," Shunsui once heard an officer of the Fourth Division say in passing. "He's so kind, and he's actually very clever - and he has a real knack for kidō, too. It's sad, isn't it, that a boy like him should suffer so?"

It was all Shunsui could do not to laugh in the officer's face.

The bastard had no freakin' idea.

 

***

 

"You are a fool, Shunsui," Head Captain Yamamoto says. "This is unlike you - to put your concern for one person above your concern for the whole." Yamamoto's grizzly eyebrows knit together in a deep, dark frown. "Have I truly taught you so little? Have I taught you nothing of sacrifice?"

"No, Yama-jii." Shunsui grinds his back teeth together as he collects his thoughts. His temples are pounding -  _ I could really use a drink,  _ he thinks - and he's been kneeling so long that it feels like his knees are starting to bruise. "I've learned plenty. I just - " He clenches his fists at his sides, and he hopes to the gods that resolution rings in his voice. "I think you might be pushing things a little too far, is all."

"That knock to the head must have addled your brains," Yamamoto replies with finality. "Go and get yourself cleaned up, Shunsui. Come back when you have something pressing to discuss, and not a moment before."

"We  _ trusted  _ you, Yama-jii."

Yamamoto's eyes flash, as if with bright, cruel fire. "Jūshirō," he says quietly, "still trusts me."

Shunsui rises. Pins and needles shoot up his legs half a second later, and his head, still throbbing with the dual pains of his wound and an hour's worth of useless negotiation, swims with the effort. He doesn't bow before he turns to leave.

"We'll see how long that lasts," he says.

 

***

 

He's pretty sure that the clumsy Fourth Division attendant has wrapped the bandages around his head a little too tight - Shunsui's no expert, but he's fairly certain that the healing process is supposed to make the pain  _ better _ , not  _ worse  _ \- but he isn't about to say anything. Not now, anyway. He doesn't think he can spare the time.

Used to be, Shunsui had to mentally prepare himself for this stuff. These days, though, it's become so commonplace that he finds his emotions turning to steel by reflex, and he finds his heart hardening long before he and his friend ever set foot together onto the battlefield. Lately, he's found, his heart has stayed pretty hard even during moments of peace; it must, he figures, be some kind of involuntary defense against the inevitable surges of sadness and grief.

He hates that, actually.  _ Look what you're doing, Yama-jii,  _ he thinks.  _ You're abusing his body, and you're chipping away piece by piece at my soul.  _ He can feel his teeth grinding away in the back of his mouth again.  _ And the worst part is, you don't give half a shit. Do you, old man? _

The Fourth Division attendants wave him into the recovery ward - they all know who he is by now, and it's only the fresh recruits who make him follow the visitors' protocol anymore - and Shunsui turns familiar corner after familiar corner, weaving his way through the maze of operating rooms, treatment centers, and staff living quarters.  _ And to think,  _ he reflects,  _ I used to get lost in this place.  _ He almost laughs, with a sense of unanticipated irony. He's tread this miserable path so many times that it's borderline second-nature to him, now.

But when he reaches the room he needs, he pauses.

This part never gets any easier, gods damn it. Probably, it never will.

Shunsui draws a breath. He means for it to be cool, even, steady - but it shudders as he exhales, slipping like a death rattle through his trembling lips. If he really wanted to, he could put his shaky hands and shaky body down to his wound - he  _ was  _ knocked upside the head by a rogue hollow with a nasty club just shy of three hours ago - but he knows he would only be lying to himself.

He's scared.

He's scared, and he's angry.

_ Shit,  _ he thinks.

It's times like this that he wonders whether the whole friendship thing was worth it after all.

 

***

 

"...and the Third Unit," Jūshirō finishes crisply, "will sweep around to the west and focus on creating a suitable distraction, in the form of illusory kidō. Members of this unit should prepare to engage in extensive kidō-based combat, if necessary. Any questions?"

Shunsui huddles in the back of the conference room and broods. He's trying his best not to let his mood dampen the entire tactics meeting, but  _ damn  _ if that isn't a difficult thing to do. He's managed to stay silent, and he considers that a victory. If he speaks, he knows he'll only spew bitter nonsense and sarcastic bullshit, and that, he's astute enough to recognize, isn’t likely to help their mission.

The mission is a joint effort by the Second Division and the Tenth Division. That sort of thing happens pretty regularly, especially where matters of strategy are concerned - the brazen Tenth Division will often attack first, charging out boldly and guiding the enemy towards the trickiest patch of territory that the stealthy Second Division - almost always lying in wait to strike, ambush-style - can find. The Second and the Tenth work well together, and they've historically been on good terms, too. Shunsui has never been overly fond of the politicking that goes on in the Gōtei, but he can't find it within himself to complain about the fact that a member of the Shihōin clan always seems to end up in power in the Second Division, or that a member of the Shiba clan always seems to end up in power in the Tenth. (He has different thoughts about the stiff, stuffy, buttoned-up Kuchikis in the Sixth Division, but he isn’t about to complain about them, either; they’re still high nobility, after all, and more than that, Shunsui has a healthy fear that Ginrei, the Kuchiki clan head, might remove the stick he has rammed up his ass and beat Shunsui to a pitiful pulp with it if he puts his opinions into words. Ginrei might look old and crusty, but Shunsui has seen him in action, and he’s not stupid enough to tempt fate like that.)

Shunsui and Jūshirō considered it a stroke of incredible luck when they were both assigned to their current posts. Rising through the ranks of the Second Division had come as naturally to Shunsui as breathing, and rising to prominence in the Kidō Corps had come as naturally to Jūshirō as -  _ well,  _ Shunsui amends,  _ maybe not as naturally as breathing, in his case. But pretty damn naturally, at any rate.  _ As such, it hadn't come as a great surprise when Shunsui was promoted to Third Seat of the Second Division - which meant, of course, that he was also the head of the Detention Squad - and when Jūshirō was called upon to fill the sudden vacancy in the Tenth Division. Strictly speaking, Jūshirō outranks Shunsui now, but that doesn't bother Shunsui in the slightest. Shunsui is genuinely happy for his friend - and, what's more, the two of them are both agreed that such a visible leadership position suits Jūshirō much better than it suits Shunsui. Jūshirō has always been better at smiling, and issuing orders, and bolstering the morale of the troops under his command. Shunsui, for his part, has never exactly been opposed to slinking around in the shadows.

One fresh-faced Tenth Division soldier asks a clarification question, and one grizzled seated officer from the Second Division quickly offers a helpful piece of advice about the terrain, and Jūshirō responds to both of them with ease and with a smile. He casts a final, expectant glance around the conference room, and then he smiles again, and makes a smooth gesture of dismissal with one pale hand. "Thank you for your time, everyone," he says. "We'll reconvene at the rendezvous point in one hour."

The soldiers file out of the conference room in an orderly fashion. Shunsui gives perfunctory nods to a couple of the guys under his command, but he lets them pass him by, and he stays where he is, slumped against the wall.

Jūshirō catches Shunsui's eye exactly once as he shuffles his papers and packs up his things. He makes a pretty good show of busying himself, but for all that, he can't fool Shunsui; Shunsui is perfectly familiar by now with what it looks like when his best friend is, kindly and pointedly, ignoring him.

And so, when Jūshirō makes a determined beeline for the door, Shunsui sticks his arm out and pulls Jūshirō up short, stopping him in his oh-so-deliberate tracks.

"Yo," Shunsui says.

"Don't."

"Jūshirō - "

"I  _ said,  _ don't."

"Hey." Shunsui adopts a hurt expression and tries his best to look his friend square in the face - though, that's pretty hard to do when Jūshirō insists on keeping his cold eyes fixed straight ahead. "Ease up, Jū-chan. I didn't say a damn thing."

"No, but you're about to. And I don't want to hear it." Jūshirō shrugs off Shunsui's arm, and resumes his careful steps towards the door.

Shunsui follows Jūshirō into the corridor, and falls into step directly beside him.  "How's your body holding up, Jū-chan?" he asks, making sure his voice is loud enough for any passersby to hear.

Jūshirō's even steps falter at that, but, to his credit, he keeps on walking. "I'm managing," he says tightly, still not turning to face Shunsui as he answers the question. "Thank you."

"That's good."

"Yes."

"I'm happy to hear that."

"Yes."

"So, that means your arm's all healed up, huh?"

Jūshirō's left fist clenches, and he rolls his left shoulder, ever so slightly. "Yes."

"Awesome. That's great, man. Really."

"Shunsui." Jūshirō pauses. He brings his feet together and stands still, looking suddenly very weary, in the middle of the corridor. "Stop. Please."

Shunsui feels his lips twist into a sardonic smirk. "Stop what?"

"You know exactly what." For the first time since their conversation began, Jūshirō turns to face Shunsui, pinning him with a hard, unyielding stare. "I wish you wouldn't do this, my friend. You know full well that I have combat clearance from the Fourth."

"Combat clearance." Shunsui snorts. "Like that's worth two shits. All you have to do is bat your eyes at a few Fourth Division attendants, and they give you whatever the fuck you ask for."

Jūshirō smiles grimly. "If it works."

Shunsui holds Jūshirō's gaze for a long moment. He searches his friend's face for any hint of uncertainty but, much to his dismay and despite his best efforts, he finds none.

And so, Shunsui nods, slow and steady, just once. "Okay," he says.

A touch of humor flickers through Jūshirō's smile. "Thank you."

"Just - don't do anything too stupid, all right?"

The humor in Jūshirō's smile fades, and it is instantly replaced, Shunsui sees, by cool resignation and cold resolve.

"I will do what is necessary, my friend," Jūshirō says. "No more, and certainly no less."

 

***

 

Blood pounds in Shunsui's ears. He's breathing hard. He's sweating like a dog. His arms hang heavy at his sides. His shoulders ache. His forearms throb. His hands feel like they're about to fall off. His legs feel like they're about to give out beneath him.

And a madman's grin splits his face.

Battle, Shunsui resolves as he raises his grand, black scimitars and slices through yet another layer of hollow guts, is good for something, at least.

It's one of only three things in this world that makes him feel alive _. _

"Forward!" he yells to his troops, sweeping one of his blades in a glorious arc over his head and using it to point in the direction of the hollow swarm before them. "The time for subtlety is over, ladies and gents - hit 'em with everything you've got!"

From then on out, it's a blunt and ugly operation - but, as Shunsui has come to learn during his time in the Gotei,  _ blunt and ugly _ often translates to  _ effective _ . The Tenth Division's kidō unit managed to situate the band of hollows exactly where the Second Division needed them, and the Second Division's team of efficient killers had bloomed like deadly flowers from the undergrowth and had gone to rapid, relentless work.

By now, though, any advantage that surprise gave the Second Division has fizzled out. The Second Division's soldiers are hacking and slashing at the hollows, looking more like a rugged band of thugs than like the professional assassins they are. The fight has become a strict, straight-up game of numbers and power - and that means that, realistically, Shunsui and his soldiers can only grit their teeth and hope for the best.

Shunsui hisses as a grisly claw swipes past him, tearing the fabric of his shihakushō and just barely missing his arm. He lashes out with the scimitar in his right hand and does a number on the hollow's shoulder - or, it  _ looks  _ like a shoulder from here, anyway; in actuality, the thing has so many limbs that Shunsui has a hard time telling one body part from another - and is rewarded with an ear-splitting cry of agony. Shunsui feints right, then jumps left, and, using all the strength he can muster, brings both of his blades down on the hollow's neck. It screeches in pain, and then, without any further preamble, dissolves before Shunsui's eyes.

For the first time in hours, stillness reigns.

"Nice one, Third Seat Kyōraku," calls a voice. It sounds to Shunsui like it's coming from somewhere far, far behind him.

"Thanks," Shunsui says, replying more out of reflex than anything else. His tongue feels thick. His voice sounds rough and raw.  _ How long,  _ he wonders vaguely,  _ have we been fighting?  _ "Yo, soldier," Shunsui shouts, turning towards the direction that the voice came from. "You heard anything from the Tenth? Any idea what our overall progress looks like?"

"We're doing well, sir," the soldier - a bright, young kid named Shimazaki, who, if Shunsui remembers right, has roots in the Rukongai - says. Abruptly, a roar sounds to Shimazaki's left. Shimazaki swings his zanpakutō in a quick, quiet circle, and then slices clean through the belly of the attacking hollow, which collapses to the forest floor before him. "We've eliminated more than half of the threat in this area," Shimazaki continues, unfazed. "The Tenth Division's messengers indicate considerable progress to the west of us. All in all, we're on track."

"Considerable progress," Shunsui echoes. He rolls his wrists, trying to loosen up the muscles in his arms. "What's that mean exactly, Shimazaki-kun?"

"I'm not fully informed, sir - "

"That's cool, Shimazaki-kun. Tell me what you know."

"Well," Shimazaki starts, dropping his stance and running his free hand through his mess of spiky hair, "it sounds like the combat units are packing a real punch. The kidō unit dispersed about twenty minutes ago, when it became clear that their distractions were no longer necessary. They've been fighting alongside the heavy hitters ever since."

"That's the most recent update, Shimazaki-kun? Twenty minutes ago?"

"Yes, sir."

"Any idea what the enemy looks like over there?"

Shimazaki wrinkles his nose and spits onto the grass. "Nasty bastards," he says, "if you'll pardon my language, sir. Big guys. The kinds of guys who can cut down a bunch of little footsoldiers with a single move. Not," he adds quickly, "that they've actually  _ done _ that. I'm just saying they  _ can. _ " Shimazaki pauses, clearly waiting for a response. When none is forthcoming, he says, "You, uh - you know the kind I mean, right, sir?"

Shunsui ignores the question. He scans the territory, sizing up the state of things, and nods, silently, to himself. "Shimazaki-kun," he says, "ready the troops. We're going."

"Uh - going, sir?"

"Yup."

"Where to, sir?"

"We," Shunsui says, "are going to help our buddies in the Tenth. If they're up against the nasty bastards you say they are, then they'll be thankful to have a few extra swords on their side." He seals his weapons with one deft motion and prepares the energy he needs for a flash-step. "More importantly," he says, "I happen to know a thing or two about the way the leader of the kidō unit fights."

"You mean Ukitake-fukutaichō, sir?"

"Yeah," Shunsui says thickly. "Him."

"What is it, sir?"

Shunsui swallows, and does his best to ignore the cold shadow settling over his heart. "Ukitake-fukutaichō is a damn good strategist, and a damn good fighter," he tells Shimazaki. "But he's gods-freakin'-awful at asking for help when he needs it."

 

***

 

Jūshirō stands, right hand outstretched and aglow with kidō, in the center of a ring of giant, hungry-looking hollows. His left arm hangs limply at his side, and his left hand is coated in bright red. Twin rivulets of blood run from the corners of his mouth and stain his chin, and still more blood drips, slow and thick, from one of his nostrils. 

Shunsui tightens his grip on his unsealed scimitars, and curses. 

Even without all of the blood, Shunsui would be able to tell by the way he's standing - lopsided, and with his feet anchored a little too firmly in the muddy ground - that his friend has been wounded.

Again.

Half a dozen soldiers stand with Jūshirō, some of them with their weapons drawn and ready, some of them parallelling their leader's movements, gathering energy and preparing kidō spells. Nearby, two more soldiers crouch, their body language screaming defense and desperation, over the prone forms of four or five of their fallen comrades. More bodies litter the ground, some quaking and crying out and clutching feebly at wounds, and some lying hopelessly, hopelessly still.

Jūshirō whips a spell at a nearby hollow, and it hits, sending furious shockwaves of electricity up and down the beast's black body. Another Tenth Division soldier backs him up, leaping skywards, twisting in the air, and driving her zanpakutō into the base of the hollow's skull before floating deftly back to the ground. The hollow opens its ghastly maw and screeches in pain - but even as it staggers, collapses to the forest floor, and bursts into thousands of thousands of tiny particles of energy and light, two more hollows charge out of the trees, roaring with anger and hunger, and making straight for the bold soldier who felled their comrade. 

And Shunsui can only watch, with his stupid heart stuck inconveniently in his throat.

A snarl splits Jūshirō's pale face. He breaks away from the circle, bursting forward and ramming his zanpakutō - which is still sealed, Shunsui notes - into its sheath. He plants his feet, and, clenching his teeth to stave off the pain, he raises both of his hands. His lips and his fingers work in rapid tandem, weaving together a complex kidō spell that Shunsui can only barely follow. His breath goes shallow. His arms start to shake. His body starts to sway, leaning a little too dangerously to one side for Shunsui's liking - but then he lets out a shout, and twin bolts of energy blast forth from his palms, striking the hollows directly between the eyes and shattering both of their shadowy bodies. 

Jūshirō smiles, satisfied.

He drops his hands.

Then, he drops to the ground.

Then, pain explodes in the back of Shunsui's skull.

He yells, in anguish and exasperation -  _ Distracted, _ he thinks, furious - _ I was distracted - gods damn you, Jūshirō, gods DAMN you -  _ He reels, almost pitching forward and falling flat on his face, but at the last second, he catches himself, pivoting on one foot and drawing his weapons upwards in the most defensive stance he knows. Breathing hard, he flicks his eyes desperately back and forth, searching for his assailant. He finds the bastard in no time - a gigantic, hairy hollow with long, dragging arms, clutching a barbaric club in one hand and the decapitated trunk of a Second Division soldier in the other. 

Bile rises in the back of Shunsui's throat, but he swallows it back down and lurches forward, training his weapons on the hollow. He hears someone call his name, but it doesn't even occur to him to turn around and listen. He's pissed, and he's wounded, and he's out for revenge, and he'll be damned if he'll let anyone get in his way. 

"Kyōraku-san!" comes a ragged voice in Shunsui's ear. "Kyōraku-san, I'll take the right side! Okay?" Shunsui glances sideways as he runs - it's Shimazaki, reliable as ever, and sporting a nasty grin. Blood runs down Shimazaki's forehead and into his left eye, which is beginning to swell shut, but as far as Shunsui can tell, Shimazaki's paying his wound no mind. "With respect, sir, that thing's too damn big for you to handle on your own." 

Shunsui squints at the giant hollow before him - it irks him a little, but the kid has a point. "Well,  _ jeez _ , Shimazaki-kun," Shunsui leers in response. Pain pulses thickly in the back of his head when he speaks, but Shunsui grits his teeth and plows forward anyway. "Thanks to you," he says, "I guess we'll never know, huh?"

Shimazaki cocks his head sideways, in what might be a shrug. "Guess not," he says. "You ready, sir?"

At that, Shunsui can only laugh. He matches Shimazaki's sick, sinister smile. "You bet," he says. "Okay, Shimazaki-kun. Let's do this thing. In three - two - "

 

***

 

Shunsui's only half-listening.

Realistically, he doesn't think his heart would be able to take it if he did much more than that.

The Fourth Division officer speaking deserves more respect than Shunsui is currently giving him, and Shunsui knows it. Still, Shunsui can't quite find it within himself to acknowledge more than the odd word or two. The officer is saying things like  _ "nerve damage" _ and  _ "eight broken ribs"  _ and  _ "blunt trauma" _ and  _ "surgeries" _ \- in the plural, Shunsui notes - and  _ "would have been easier if he hadn't tried to heal his own wounds on the battlefield."  _

"But I wouldn't worry," the officer concludes, letting a practiced, calming bedside-manner-smile slide onto his kindly face. "He's never been strong, but he's seen worse. I expect him to make a full recovery."

"I sorta wish he wouldn't," Shunsui hears himself say.

At that, the officer's smile abruptly disappears. 

Shunsui cringes. "I'm sorry - “

"You certainly should be.”

"I know - " 

"With respect, Third Seat Kyōraku, that's an awful thing to say."

"I  _ know."  _ Shunsui hangs his head. He closes his eyes, and presses the heels of his hands to his temples. "I - I don't mean it like that. I just mean - " He swallows, hard. His voice is trembling, and twin pangs of heat have started to prick sharply behind his eyes. "I hate it when he gets hurt," Shunsui says. "I  _ hate  _ it. And I feel like, maybe - I mean,  _ maybe,  _ if this shit could actually kill him, then he wouldn't take so many risks." 

"Perhaps." A small frown creases the officer's brow. "Third Seat Kyōraku," he continues softly, "I may be overstepping my bounds as a professional by saying this, but it seems to me that if Ukitake-fukutaichō wants to make sacrifices for others, that's his business." He casts a slow glance to the pale, unmoving figure lying lifelessly in the hospital bed before him. "And what's more," the officer says, "his body…" He pauses, hesitating. "We're lucky," he finally says, "that a man like him decided to serve in the Gōtei." 

Shunsui feels empty. He follows the officer's gaze, and stares, eyes dull and heart aching, at the bandages and the wires and the kidō administration devices and the reiatsu regulators that hold his friend in this tenuous equilibrium. "He's in pain, isn't he?" Shunsui asks. "He's gotta be."

Quiet sympathy alights in the officer's face. "We're doing everything we can," he says.

 

***

 

The casualties were minimal.

That was what the official reports said, anyway.

Shunsui, downing cup after cup of sake and waxing cynical, can't help but wonder what the unofficial body count looks like. 

"D'you figure," he slurs aloud to anyone who might be listening - he's in a dive bar on the outskirts of the Seireitei, and he's sporting some grungy civilian clothes, so he doesn't give a flying fuck who hears him - "that treating your own life like it's worthless is any different from dying? Or is it the same?"

A chain-smoking geezer at the end of the bar gives Shunsui some disinterested side-eye, but that's all the response Shunsui gets. 

"I think," Shunsui continues, feeling sly and a little bit intellectual, "it's actually  _ worse. _ I say it's a fate  _ worse  _ than death." He chuckles darkly, thoroughly pleased with himself. "I bet my ass you never thought of  _ that!  _ Did ya?" 

But, just like before, Shunsui receives no revolutionary feedback. 

So, Shunsui tips his chin up, knocks back the last of his booze, and slams his cup down on the greasy wood of the bar. He grins wildly, and waves his hand in the air. "Yo, bartender!" he calls. "Fill me up!"


	3. Epilogue

_"...say, Jū?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"I - I was wondering - uh." Shunsui looks away. Somehow, he can't quite make himself meet his friend's eyes as he asks his question. "Does Yama-jii know?"_

_Jūshirō's face is impassive as stone. "About what?" he asks softly - but the tone of his voice implies that he already knows the answer._

_In response, Shunsui is silent._

_For a moment, Jūshirō is silent, too._

_Then -_

_"Yes."_

_"How long?"_

_"Years."_

_"How many years?"_

_"Decades, my friend."_

_"Since before we graduated?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Since before he started training us, one-on-one?"_

_"One-on-two, I would say."_

_"You know what I mean."_

_"Yes."_

_"Since - well, shit, Jūshirō, how much further back can I go?" Shunsui's hands curl into fists. "Since - since before you were admitted to the Academy? Since you were - how old were you, three? Three years old? Since then?"_

_"I was three years old, yes," Jūshirō answers quietly. "Though, at that time in my life, I wasn't exactly equipped with the faculties to understand what had happened." He draws a careful breath, and he shifts slightly. "I included a supplementary letter with my application to the Academy," he says. "I felt it was a significant detail, and I believe it tipped the scales in my favor."_

_"You don't think your perfect score on the entrance exam had anything to do with it?"_

_"How did you know about that?"_

_"I didn't. But you just confirmed it for me, so thanks."_

_Jūshirō tilts his head sideways, and the moonlight suddenly throws strange shadows across his pale face. "I'm fortunate," he says. "The gods looked upon me with grace and goodwill, and  Genryūsai-sensei was willing to give me a chance."_

_"You're an idiot," Shunsui says, before he can stop himself._

_The corners of Jūshirō's clever eyes crinkle with something like humor. "Perhaps," he says softly. "Perhaps I am, my friend. I'm more than happy to grant you that."_

  _Jūshirō smiles, then. Probably, Shunsui figures, he has no idea just how sad his smile makes him look._

“ _But," Jūshirō says, "I’m also the perfect soldier. Don't you think?"_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, uh - real quick - I'm not saying, for the record, that I definitely headcanon that Jūshirō was in the Tenth Division. I like it, because it establishes a ready connection to the Shibas, which is kinda nice - but maybe it happened, maybe it didn't. (I do, however, fully headcanon that he started out in the Kidō Corps. It just makes sense to me. I also fully headcanon that Shunsui was Third Seat of the Second Division. I feel that the sneaky Second Division suits him nicely, and I like the idea that he might have once held the position that Urahara would one day hold. It's possible, I think, that they both made the jump from Third Seat of the Second Division to Captain, too. Makes for some nice parallels, and gives that one senpai-kōhai moment between them in TBTP even more resonance.)
> 
> Also, this fic kinda only works because of the way I've interpreted all of the Mimihagi stuff, and I'm happy to acknowledge that my headcanons there might not be spot-on either. If anyone has questions, or wants to talk headcanons, gimme a shout! Leave a comment, or, alternately, you can find me on [tumblr](http://dameofnodelicacy.tumblr.com) :)
> 
> And, of course - THANK YOU for reading, everyone!


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